


Goodnight

by Rainbowcat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowcat/pseuds/Rainbowcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He and Sam are dying. That much Dean knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight

He and Sam are dying. That much Dean knows.

He knows, too, that it’s definite this time. Final. Nobody’s out there anymore to reassemble Dean, or his brother, for that matter. Nobody Heaven-sent, Hell-sent, or otherwise needs them anymore. But that was always the endgame, wasn’t it? To reach that point where the Winchesters didn’t need to scrub clean the most serious afflictions of humankind. To quit staggering around like Atlas, carrying the world on their trembling shoulders.

This is a good patch of Earth to die on. It’s solid, unyielding, and a little cold. Dean feels himself racked by shivers; he reassures himself that it’s from his abnormally low body temperature, not fear. He doesn’t have much reason to fear, not now, not ever again.

Dean looks over at Sam, and his little brother is in worse shape than he is. There’s blood smeared over half of his face. One eye is swollen shut; the other is glazed, as if Sam’s left already. But he hasn’t: Dean can hear his breaths, coming shallower and faster with each passing moment. Soon, though.

“Sammy?” Dean asks. His voice chokes over on the second syllable and the nickname doesn’t come out, not really. Sam groans slightly and his one good eye flicks over to where Dean is lying.

Dean attempts a wistful smile, but his lips only twitch a little bit. “Always knew it would end like this, huh.”

Sam doesn’t answer at first, just groans again and stretches his chin upwards. His throat is soaked in crimson. When he does speak, it’s mostly a rasping gurgle. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t be. Sammy, I - we’re gonna be okay, you know that.”

There’s absolutely no reaction this time, and when Dean looks over again, his heart is beating a little too fast in his chest. Sam is still. Both of his eyes are shut now.

Dean looks away. “Damnit.”

The world glazes over through a film of tears, but Dean doesn’t let them spill over. Why bother? It’s over, anyway. All he needs to do now is wait.

There’s a distinctive rustling sound, and Castiel is there. Exactly on time as always, but too late, too late. He kneels in the space between the two brothers, gaze warmer and more at peace than Dean has ever seen it. Their eyes meet and Cas’s fingers brush Dean’s temple, run over his cheek. The angel’s thumb catches a stray tear that Dean hadn’t meant to let escape.

“Cas.”

“Dean,” Castiel replies, and suddenly he smiles radiantly. “You’ve done so well.” 

“It’s over, Cas,” Dean mumbles. His breath catches, lungs struggling under the inevitability of their collapse, and he coughs desperately. Funny thing, survival instincts. Dean closes his eyes.

“Yes,” Cas agrees calmly. “I’ve come to say goodnight.”

Then he leans over and suddenly Castiel is there, right in Dean’s space, right where he’s always been. He feels two lips against his own, hears another rustle, and the touch is gone. 

Dean opens his eyes and Castiel is nowhere to be seen; instead, there’s a young man dressed in black. The stranger is beautiful, with blonde hair and blue eyes, smooth jawline and long fingers. And Dean can hear the richness of the Reaper’s voice before he even speaks.

“Dean Winchester,” he says, kneeling where Castiel had been a few moments ago. “It’s time.”

“Is Sam okay?” Dean demands before he can stop himself, but then he begins coughing so aggressively that he loses focus, dragging in deep breaths even though he’s already surrendered. The Reaper tucks one slender finger under Dean’s chin, and he can breathe easily again, sucking in lungfuls of blessedly warm air.

He smiles at Dean, tilts his head, says nothing.

Dean lets his gaze drop, and his attention is drawn toward an engraved golden watch hanging from the Reaper’s pocket. He can hear it ticking, and as he listens, its soft clicks become louder, all-consuming. He finds himself nodding, and then Dean reaches an aching hand toward the fingers brushing his throat. 

Their hands join, and then there’s nothing but white light.

***

Dean opens his eyes in a meadow dominated by a single tree. Huh, cliché, is his first thought, but he forgets immediately as his gaze lands on a dark shape in the grass. Sam. He stumbles over, glancing down at his brother, but it’s okay: he’s only sleeping this time. No more blood, no brokenness.

“Dean.”

He turns, and Castiel is there again, looking so unchanged that Dean wonders if he really ever left. The angel’s trenchcoat is wrinkled and a little torn, and Dean grabs on to its collar to steady himself. “You’re - you’re here. Cas-"

Dean pulls him in. Their foreheads touch, then their noses, but neither of them move. Dean’s not planning on it.

He feels the sun on his back; distantly, he can hear Sam beginning to stir. It’s over. It will always be over. They can be done now.

Time to be home.


End file.
